


The Mask of Death

by Benji_Deeds



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Lotta pain, M/M, Techno virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 19:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benji_Deeds/pseuds/Benji_Deeds
Summary: A light character study that involves Nathan's death.





	The Mask of Death

Something bad was happening. Wade could practically feel it in his bones. The boxes were screaming at him, driving him forward across town and back to his shared apartment. Yellow box said something was fucked up and white yelled about the writers about to totally screw him over again and yeah-Wade fucking believed it. Every time his life was going decently, some new disaster came his way.

He was happy. He was actually fucking happy with his life for the first time in God knows how long. He had a team, he had people he could rely on even if they talked shit about him, (it was fine; he could return the shittalk), he had someone who loved him. Who actually loved him for who he was instead of despite it or not at all. Nathan actually loved him. 

Yeah, that's right. Nathan Summers, of all people. Wade was pretty shocked himself when it first slipped off Nate's lips. Sure, they'd been fooling around a bit long before anything was actually said, but Wade had assumed it was just because Nathan wanted someone to have. And Wade had been fine with that, really. He'd needed someone, too, so who would he be to judge Nathan for craving the same physical affection, the distraction from everything else wrong in the world. But...that had changed when the L word actually fell off Nate's lips, delicately for such a man of his stature and gruff attitude. Wade had cried and clung to him for ages, whispering over and over again that, yeah, he loved Nathan, too.

So, yeah, Wade was so goddammed happy with his life. And of course something had to come along to fuck with his brain yet again.

He was getting closer to their apartment, launching himself up the stairs with agility that for some reason wasn't expected of him. He reached for the doorknob and cursed Nathan silently for being so diligent about all the damn locks he'd put on the place. ("You'll thank me when there's no intruder coming up here in the middle of the night to rip your balls off." "Sure, but it'll be a hell of a time if I'm ever trying to get away from an intruder and to you.") Damn, Wade had actually been right about that one.

Driven by the voices in his head and the shakiness of his hands as they undid the locks, (his body, it was his entire body that was shaking with that incessant anxiety), Wade had practically tripped over his own two feet when he got it open. 

The apartment was off. Some things were askew and it just wasn't like Nathan to leave them like that. And then he heard groans in the bedroom. Nathan. His voice had this quality to it that was unmistakable. Low-pitched and hoarse from time spent in war, it was beautiful and so very him. And it was in pain. Nathan likes to think that he can mask his emotions as easily as Wade can his face, but Wade knew him better than that now. It may not be written clearly on his etched features, but it was in that voice that one could listen for wobbles, tremors, light gasps of struggle during the night when he's just trying to fight his affliction. 

Wade didn't think, he didn't have time to think. He rushed forward to their room, ignoring how muddy his boots were from where he'd been before all this happened, ignoring the boxes' intensity, ignoring everything but Nathan. Nathan, who was half-standing and half-leaning on the bed for support, who looked to be in worse pain than Wade had ever seen him in and that was...that was a lot.

Wade didn't have to think as he moved to support Nathan's weaker side. It didn't take long before the heavier man was fully leaning on him and Wade had to ease them both down onto the floor, unable to hold him up. He allowed himself the time to look over Nathan's body and held back a whine as he saw more metal than before. It was all along his chest, his legs, most of his good, (well not anymore), arm. On parts of his head. 

"Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, what the fuck, what the fuck is happening, what the fuck," Wade's mouth had finally caught up to his brain and he was starting to hyperventilate as he held Nate. His chest heaved as he tried to think, to get some air, to figure out how the fuck to either fix this or kill all the fucking writers that ever made him fall in love with a man that was dying. "Nathan, Nathan, speak to me, what the fuck, what the fuck-"

There was a groan and Nate's voice came out slower than usual, "Jesus christ, Wade, breathe. Breathe, okay?" And that was just...the most fucked up thing in the world because why is Nathan helping him when he's literally on his deathbed and oh -God- it hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it -hurt-.

Wade nodded, nevertheless, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly again, like Piotr had once advised him to do. Not that he'd ever let the old metal man know he actually took that advise to heart. Once he could manage a coherent thought, Wade asked, "What-What do I do? I don't know what to do, Nate, I can't help, I-I can't-" 

Nathan brought the hand that hadn't been completely taken over up to Wade's thigh, squeezing it lightly because that's all he could reach from where he was laying on Wade's lap, his head on Wade's thighs and the rest of him sprawled out as if paralyzed in front of him. "Not much to do, Wade. We all die at some point. Even fucking immortals, apparently."

Something in Wade's gut clenched as the realization hit deeper. "No. No-no-no-no, Nathan, don't fuckin' leave me. First Vanessa, now you, I-. Nathan, I can't. I can't do this without you. I-I-I can't." 

Nathan shook his head as a sign of stubbornness even in near death. "Wade..." He spoke and Wade drew closer, leaning over him a little. Nate reached up and tugged up at Wade's mask, which was followed immediately by Wade's own hands flying up to his face to rip it off. He didn't care about it. Not about his insecurities right now. All that mattered was that Nathan was comfortable. And something about Wade's face being shown brought one of those gentle sort of smiles to Nathan's face. The grip of his hand weakened and the literal light in his eyes faded as the virus neared its completion. Nathan was fading away and he managed to get a few words out before he was gone:

"Keep that off."

Wade felt like screaming. He felt like blowing himself up again, like setting the apartment on fire and pouring himself in acid as if that would ensure he stay fucking dead. He could buy one of those mutant collars off the black market and put it on himself before shooting his brains out. He could fucking curl up into a ball and screams his lungs out until someone locked him away for insanity. 

Anything.

Anything was better than sitting on the floor with your essentially lobotomized, dead boyfriend on your lap. 

But that's what he did for the next hours on end. Crying and screaming and occasionally stopping so that his vocal cords didn't snap or some shit. He would go from holding Nathan close to his chest to just sitting there with him. His vision faded in and out as he sat there, clutching Nate's stiff, cold hand. 

He had nowhere to go now. Noone to go to, he felt. 

He was alone again, just like before.

When Wade went to go out and at least tell the team what had happened, he reached for his mask, but touching it was like fire. (Keep that off.) Wade fumbled. His mask was like a comfort item, one of the only ones he had, and yet...it was the only wish Nathan had left him. 

Wade ended up burning it.

He hated himself for it, and yet was inversely proud of the action. 

He still had to tell them, which meant going out again and without his mask...Wade saw the fabric on the bed. That soft, ridiculous not-quite-scarf but not-quite-cape Nathan had so often worn...

It ended up being much better of a comfort item than that dumbass mask, anyway. 

He'd keep that one on.


End file.
